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ARCADES AMBO 



Arcades Ambo 

By 

Richard Mott Gummere 
Charles Wharton Stork 



^ 



Philadelphia : 

H. W. Fisher & Co. 
1904. 






LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Copies Received 

I^AY IS 1904 
Oepyrtght Entry 

CLASS a- XXo. No. 

COPY B 



Copyright, 1904 by 
RICHARD MOTT GUMMERE 
CHARLES WHARTON STORK 



Wo * copies : ^privately priiited. 



No. 



To our friejids 

who read tcs a?id our readers 

who we hope will be our frie7ids. 



CONTENTS 



Defence of (Our) Poetry, 


3 


In Her Presence, 


4 


Danae and Perseus, 


5 


The Eagle, 


6 


Horace, 


7 


Poscimur, 


9 


Persicos Odi, 


II 


To Calvus, On the Death of 


His Wife, 12 


The Matterhorn, 


13 


Skating, 


M 


Sparta, 


16 


Tyranny, 


18 


A Rhapsody, 


19 


Plautus, 


20 


The Greek Lyric Poets, 


21 


A Letter 


22 


Up to Date, 


23 


The Mermaid's Call, 


24 


Epistle to Nicotina, 


25 


Nocturne, 


27 


To Keats, 


28 


Herrick, 


29 


A Song of the South, 


31 



A Buffet from Fortune, 


33 


My Colleen Bawn, 


36 


The Query, 


38 


School Days, 


39 


The Spirit of Summer, 


41 


The Heart of Nature, 


42 


The Enchantress, 


45 


The Bachelor's Song, 


47 


Triolets, 


48 


The Forest Maiden, 


49 


Epigrams, 


50 



PREFACE. 



ARCADES AMBO, Arcadians both. Not 
poets both ; for though all poets be Arcad- 
ians, all Arcadians are not necessarily poets. 
But as in the time of Theocritus many a shepherd 
unknown to fame may have sung to his fellow 
herdsmen strains not unmusical, so we, in our 
Arcadia of college life, have composed snatches 
of verse which we trust will be of interest to those 
who know us. Stevenson commends the courage 
of the man who is not afraid to make a fool of him- 
self, so the poorer our poetry the greater our 
courage in printing it. If you who read this, our 
initial volume, discover in it any spark of wit, any 
ripple of music, or any true echo of the ' ' happier 
age of gold," pray give us credit for having done 
more than we promised. 



We take pleasure in acknowledging our debt 
to the Harvard Advocate and to the Haverfordian^ 
of Haverford College, in which several of the fol- 
lowing poems were first published. 

R. M. G., 
C. W. S. 



DEFENCE OF (OUR) POETRY. 

THIS book of unpretentious verse 
With trembling awe we bring to light, 
Both mindful, fearful, of the curse 

That hangs o'er rhymes all bards indite. 
For many think the luckless poet, 
Though feeling prompt him, should not show it. 

We've sat together by the fire 

When logs sent crackling sparks on high, 
And read the books we both admire 

Till jocund day made white the sky. 
Thus, reader, thoughts of famous writers, 
Made us two would-be laurel biters. 

From this, you see, our little book 

Takes shape, and spreads his paper wings 

To fly and give his friends a look 
At his imperfect flutterings. 

So if you like his leaf-wings, turn them, 

And if you don't — we bid you burn them. 



IN HER PRESENCE. 

{Sappho 11.) 

I COUNT him happy as a god, 
Who sits beside your feet, love, 
Who Hstens to your rippling laugh, 
Your voice so low and sweet, love. 

For me, when I am in your sight, 
A mist comes o'er my eyes, love ; 

My heart throbs high, I can not see 
For fear and glad surprise, love. 

My tongue is tied, a subtile fire 
Consumes me from within, love. 

A roaring fills my ears until 
I'm giddy with the din, love. 

I tremble now through every limb 
With longing fond yet sad, love. 

I wither in your burning gaze ; 
Your beauty drives me mad, love. 



DANAE AND PERSEUS. 

{Simonides XXX VI I.) 

THE winds were raging in angry fray, 
And the fierce waves beat on the carven chest 
Where Danae's cheeks were wet with the spray, 
And the salt drops fell on the babe at her breast. 

" My child," she said, "whom I clasp so warm, 
Thou dost not heed the lashing storm ; 
But sleep' St serene in thy tossing bed, 
While the hungry waves curl over thy head. 
How gently thou breathest, thou dreamest how 

free. 
Wrapped in thy robes of royalty." 

" Oh, that thou couldst our danger know. 

That the roar of the waters might come to 
thine ear! 

Then thou wouldst share in thy mother's woe. 
But no, my words thou dost not hear." 

"Sleep on, my child, and sleep, my care. 

Oh, Jove, reverse thy stern decree. 
For I have made an impious prayer. 

Almighty Father, pardon me." 



THE EAGLE. 
{Bacchylides II, 16-30.) 

THE mighty eagle cleaves the upper air, 
Swift soaring to the clouds on tawny wing, 
The trusted messenger with strength endowed, 
To do the will of heaven's thunderous king. 

The songbirds cower beneath him in the vale, 
For not the highest crest of mountains steep 

Can stay his flight, nor yet the broad expanse 
Of tireless waves that foam upon the deep. 

Through the sheer void he holds his steady course, 
Poised with soft-feathered pinions wide outspread, 

While men below gaze up in wonderment, 
At this conspicuous portent overhead. 



HORACE. 

WHEN your mind, my friend, is struggling 
On the literary rack, 
When your thoughts are fairly dancing, 

And your brain is fit to crack ; 
Court the old Horatian wisdom, 

Never can its precepts fail ; 
Its felicity will steer you 

Through the perils of the gale. 

When you're working like a beaver, 

Cutting ice and sawing wood; 
When your mind is tired of figures, 

And your stomach tired of food, 
Go, meander to your book-case, 

Where the good old poet lies; 
Renovate the joys of College, 

Read the words that make you wise. 



When your married cares annoy you 

And you're rather down on life, 
Leave the squabblings of your children 

And the lectures of your wife; 
Fill your pipe with soothing mixture 

And your room with soothing smoke, 
Turn again to happy Horace, 

Then you'll surely cease to croak! 



POSCIMUR. 

Horace Odes, /, 32. 

THEY ask a song. What shall it be? 
If aught in times of fancy free 
We've sung in halting feet, 

My lyre, may all-destroying time 
Yet save the freshness of thy rhyme 
In Latin numbers sweet. 

The Lesbian first who touched thy chords. 
And formed thy music to his words 

Amid the clash of arms, 

Or when he moored his bark sea- toss 'd 

Beside the plashing Grecian coast. 
Gave name to all the charms 

Of Bacchus with his teeming vine, 
The boon companion of the Nine ; 

Or Venus, and the boy 

Who haunts for aye the goddess' side; 

And Lycus in his dark-eyed pride 
And hair, the maid's decoy. 
9 



O joy of Phoebus, loved of Jove, 
A shell oft struck in feasts above. 

Divine and human trust! 

Thou sweet relaxer of my care. 

Give kindly ear to heed my prayer 
Whene'er my call is just! 



Id 



PERSICOS ODI. 

Horace Odes, /, 38. 

ALL your costly frippery cloys my senses ; 
Nosegays of the prettiest are displeasing ; 
Cease to seek when the latest rose of summer 
Blooms, all forgotten. 

Myrtle and simplicity, nothing added. 

Cannot harm our taste or disgrace our dwelling, 
While I sip my cup and you stand to serve me 
Under my fig tree. 



II 



TO CALVUS 
ON THE DEATH OF HIS WIFE. 

{Catullus, XCVL) 

CALVUS, if there is aught our grief can do 
To please the silent ashes of the dead, 
Whereby our former love we may renew 

Or weep the friendships that long since have fled, 
Quintilia' s pain in death shall never be 
As great as living was her joy in thee. 



ts 



THE MATTERHORN. 

THE avalanches flee before his frown, 
He rules the clouds and tempest with his nod. 
Headlong he hurls the pygmy climbers down, 
And rears his titan head to mock at God. 



n 



SKATING. 

WITH a dash 
And a slide 
Off we glide 
O'er the ice through a flurry of snow. 
Just we two, 
She and I, 
How we fly 
With a rhythmical rush as we go ! 

Now we sway 

Now we swing, 

While the ring 
Of our skates gives a musical note. 

And the flakes 

As they swirl, 

As they whirl, 
To her raven black hair gently float. 
14 



There they gleam 

With a light 

Soft and bright 
In the night of those glorious tresses. 

While her cheeks 

Deeply glow 

Where the snow 
Dares to touch them with chilly caresses. 

You that prate 

Of the spring 

Have your fling; 
But I'll tell you old Winter's no churl. 

For 'tis then you may race 

With the wind in your face, 
Hand in hand with a laughing girl. 



15 



SPARTA. 

Ci QPARTAN lads, with hero-faces, 

O Lips that shout a scornful song, 
Wherefore stand ye, like to minions, 

While the priestess plies the thong ? 
Yours is not a nature passive ; 

Yours it is the sword to wield ; 
Yours to conquer all in battle. 

Or to lie upon the shield." 

'* We the sons of Spartan fathers, 

Bow to our ancestral laws, 
Chastened by the maiden-goddess 

For a never-dying cause. 
This our blood which floods the altar 

To our native land we give ; 
This, the silence of our torture, 

Speaks the faith by which we live. 
i6 



* ' When Leonldas the valiant 

Held the Persian ranks at bay, 
Swearing, by the gods we honor, 

Not to cast his arms away ; 
Every drop of blood that trickled 

Down upon Thessalian sand 
Spelled the discipline of Sparta 

And the valor of his band." 

** Spartan lads, my words of wonder 

You have quickly put to shame ; 
Now I hear the ring of battle 

In the glory of your name. 
Lacedaimon, may your children, 

While they draw their earthly breath, 
Seek the freedom of their country 

Though their glory spring from death.' 



rr 



TYRANNY. 

ALL earthly monarchies I hate 
Where tyrants wreak their will ; 
Their only thought to wreck the State 
And thrive by doing ill. 

The monarchy which rules my breast 

And makes my soul to rise 
Is that which springs from Love's behest- 

The sunshine of your eyes. 

To me your tyranny is dear 

And shall forever be; 
You are my day, my month, my year, 

My sweet eternity. 



i8 



A RHAPSODY. 

THE boisterous waves are hushed to hear 
Thy voice more soft than sleep. 
The stars, that rise to greet thine eyes, 

A spell-bound vigil keep. 
The breeze, that stirs the charmed air. 
Sighs to the night that thou art fair. 

The full moon soars above the clouds 

And gazes on the se? 
With golden rays a v \e lays, 

A road of state ~ji ..lee. 
Ah! sweet, if nature loves thee so, 

Think with what fire my heart must glow. 



19 



PLAUTUS. 

PLAUTUS, broad of wit and foot, 
Bald of head and humor! 
Every single line you wrote 
Gave you food for two more. 

Grinding in your little mill 

For your slender wages: 
Sturdy lad, with iron will 

Rampant on your pages, 

Thanks ! You drive away our care 

Every time we read you. 
Are you held for Charon' s fare ? 

Here's the cash. God speed you! 



THE GREEK LYRIC POETS, 

ECHOES from lands hallowed by goddess-feet. 
Where grain is taught to spring beside the rock, 
Where grapes cling fondly to the parent stalk 
And ripen on the hill-sides in the heat! 
The cattle seek the spring, the hind his seat 
Upon the base of yonder olive-stock. 
The shepherds make ^Eolian flutes unlock 
Their music to the dancing of the wheat. 
Ye happy islands! Would that your content, 
Sung in the strain of many a Grecian bard, 
Might soften with its carelessness the heart 
Of man, that ripens only to ferment, 

And touch the soul that, daily growing hard, 
Slays Nature by a yearning after Art. 



21 



A LETTER. 

IT'S a bit o' me heart I'm sendin' to you, 
Me darrlin' over the sea. 
And many's the time I would follow it, too, 
If me wish would come thrue to me. 

A scrap of a letther — och ! how can it tell 
The love that no tongue can impart? 

But rade it again, dear, and search it well, 
For it brings you a bit o' me heart, 

Mavourneen ! 

It brings you a bit o' me heart. 



UP TO DATE. 

POETS of old their loves would praise 
In classic trope and metaphor ; 
But in these bustling modern days 
Such things we're fitted better for. 

Aurelia, I will not compare 

Your beauty to a rose or lily, 
But I'll maintain you are as rare 

As anthracite when times are chilly. 

You're truer than the Steel Combine, 
Sweet as Amalgamated Sugar, 

Proud as the New York Central Line, 
Bright as the diamond mines of Kruger. 

Your virtues through the World I'd sound, 
Could I control that mighty organ. 

Or, if such laud too small be found, 
I'll swear my love is great as Morgan. 



23 



THE MERMAID^S CALL. 

DOWN, far down where the ground-swells 
dash 
And the flickering sunbeams fade, 
Down to the caves where white arms flash 
Through the dim of the purple shade — 
Where cold breasts gleam, and loose locks stream. 

And languorous eyes glow misty bright, 
While all day long the far, faint song 
Of siren voices floats liltingly light, — 

'Tis there, 'tis there that I fain would be. 

Deep hid from the dusty strife 
That clashes on incessantly 

In the glare of this parching life. 
Away let me fly from this desert sky; 

Away, afar, alone and free ! 
To dance o'er the sand with a mermaid band 

On the shell-strewn floor of the surging sea. 



24 



EPISTLE TO NICOTINA. 

MOST honored dame, whose perfume mild 
DeUghts your simple careless child, 
IncHne your ear ; this verse is styled 

'* Defence of Smoking," 
And may the critics, tame and wild, 
Eschew their croaking. 

A frosty night, when winter's spell 

Has made his mark on hill and dell. 

When Founder's mournful lecture-knell 
Has ceased her ringing ; 

Then Nicotina weaves her spell 
And sets us singing. 

Our chairs we draw before the fire. 

True friends, whose wit and soul inspire 

One's heart, whose accents never tire, 
We spin our woof, 

And mortal guile and mortal ire 
Stand far aloof. 



25 



Sir Walter Raleigh used to smoke, 
And by its fumes Apollo spoke, 

And far-famed Sherlock could evoke 
His victim's swag, 

Inspiring Surgeon Watson's joke 
By smoking shag. 

So when in politics we fight, 

Or shout for shares with all our might, 
Let's mark that brave December night 

At dear old College, 
And hold it in a higher light 

Than worldly knowledge. 



NOCTURNE. 

1AM wandering through the moonlight 
In a country dim and far, 
Where the mystic cloudland vessels 
Slowly sail from star to star. 

'Tis no realm of far-off wonder 
' Neath the gleam of pearly skies ; 

'Tis the mistland of your face, love, 
And the dreamland of your eyes. 



27 



TO KEATS. 

O LOVER'S poet, soul-enthralling Keats, 
Singing Endymion's passion in the night 
Softly as Dian sheds the mystic light 
Which steeps thy ardent song ; thou know'st the 

sweets 
Of joy, when Porphyro his mistress greets 

At the hush'd hour of midniglit. Thou can'st 

write 
Of Isabella's basil ever bright 
With silent-welling tears, while sorrow eats 
The maiden's faithful heart. Thou tellest, too, 
Of young Leander's death, Narcissus' fate, 
And many another amorous legend more. 
But deeper, stronger, sadder and more true 
Than all, is thine own love disconsolate, 

O tender heart, dash'd on a cruel shore ! 



28 



HERRICK. 

AH Robin ! Thanks for many hours of bliss, 
The sweet perusals of thy honied page, 
The epigram that marks the saying sage 
And deftly speaks a sweetly stolen kiss. 

How often, when the fire is burning bright, 
Thy laurel crackles in thy witty lines ; 
And Julia walks in silks again, and shines, 

While fops are fixed in wonder at the sight. 

Corinna, sweetest slug-a-bed, is loth 

To leave her couch and lead astray the morn ; 
Her steadfast swain implores her, all forlorn. 

To shake oE dreams and unbecoming sloth. 

Thou seest the sprite that haunts the water-fall, 
Thou seest the Hamadryad in the tree; 
Thy verses ring of May- time, dances, glee. 

With all the freshness of a madrigal. 
29 



When life's trite metaphors din through our ears, 
And everything is out of tune and time, 
Come cheer me with the fervor of thy rhyme. 

Thou glad awakener of the buried years i 



30 



A SONG OF THE SOUTH. 

ROSE of the southland, 
Where dost thou stray ? 
Deep in a mossy dell 

Hidden away. 
Where the palmettos sigh, 
Sweet amid grasses high, 
There may'st thou gently lie 
On thy light spray. 

Bird of the southland, 

Where dost thou fly ? 
Where the low rice fields 

Glittering lie. 
Back to the sultry bowers, 
Rich with the spice of flowers, 
To the bright summer hours 
Of Arcady. 

51 



Maid of the southland, 

Fairest of all, 
Soft from thy southland 

I hear the call ; 
Murmur of sleeping streams, 
Low from the land of dreams, 
Where Fancy's misty beams 

Tenderly fall. 



A BUFFET FROM FORTUNE. 

I' D like to court the Muses nine, 
And touch the founts of story, 
To illustrate the aged saw 
How Fortune, with capacious paw 
Bestows an ill-earned glory. 

For now on lucky me she smiles, 

And now on lucky you; 
Sometimes she gives a hearty grip, 
Sometimes a haughty finger-tip, 

Sometimes a frown or two. 

From A to Z I'd crammed my brain 

With knowledge and with gas ; 
I'd studied up, I'd studied down, 
I'd chased translations through the town 
And never *' fussed " a lass. 
33 



My rival never touched a book 

And never turned a page ; 
Although he conjured every art, 
Sweet maiden clutches held his heart 
And fanned his noble rage. 

Exams came on: Minerva frowned, 

And scolded laughing Venus. 
He was a fusser true and tried, 
And I a bookworm soaked and dyed ; 
Thus stood the case between us. 

Professor smiled a quiet smile : 

* ' Your work, my friends, has been 
Of such a character that I, 
In common honesty must try 
On Sophs, to vent my spleen. 



34 



'*A slight formality I give — 

A page of sight translation." 
The fusser cast his eyes to heaven; 
The student tried his wrath to leaven, 
Escaping condemnation. 

And thus we see in every phase, 
For sweetness masks a sting ; 
And when the voice of wisdom cries, 
Don't heed its petty, quibbling lies; 
Just do the other thing ! 



35 



MY COLLEEN BAWN. 

OH, it's you have the sparkHn' smile, dear, 
And it's you have the winnin' tongue! 
Me poor heart fluttered the while, dear, 
You flower o' the emerald isle, dear, 

At the witchin' ould song that you sung. 
And will you love me true, swateheart, 

As long as day shall dawn ? 
Oh, me poor heart's broke in two, swatehart, 
And me head is turned for you, swateheart, 
Then give me a kiss 
And promise me this. 
To be me own colleen bawn. 

36 



Your hair is soft as the laverock's wing, 

Your voice is a bubblin' stream. 
Your grey eyes set me wandering 
In moonlit woods where the fairies sing 

Like the lilt in some vanished dream. 
Then will you be me own, darlin'. 

Oh, never say me nay. 
You shall sit on a golden throne, darlin' , 
All set with precious stones, darlin' , 
So come to me arms, 
And safe from all harms 
You shall rest there forever and aye. 



37 



THE QUERY. 

OTARQUIN, if the boast of pride, 
The pomp of war, recoiled to lay 
Thy once great head beneath the clay 
Where rest the many who have died ; 

And if, great Caesar, daggers, death, 
And curses spelled a project fell, 
While mobs howled forth a funeral knell 

To glorify thy parting breath, 

Why live so many reprobates 
To thrive on peculated spoil — 
To raise the price of Standard Oil 

And make us freeze with empty grates ? 



38 



SCHOOL DAYS. 

A THRONG of careless lads, whose hearts 
Were full of naught but frolic; 
Whose tantalizing pranks and arts 
Approached the diabolic. 

Those times were golden, ere Black Care 

Began to mount our carriage, 
Before we moaned our long-lost hair, 

Before we thought of marriage. 

Our masters used their utmost powers 

To keep us somehow quiet; 
They added to our study hours, 

Subtracting from our diet. 

They docked our weekly stipend, wrote 

Our parents weekly letters; 
But what cared we for any groat, 

What cared we for our betters ? 
39 



Our eloquence flared up and burned, 

We stammered over Caesar ; 
And when the master's back was turned, 

Read "Tom, the Texas Greaser." 

Those days are dead, those boys are men, 
Whose minds are fixed and steady ; 

Whose memories bless the happy '* then," 
Whose hearts are ever ready 

To think of times that long have fled 

With tender veneration. 
And, smiling sadly, forge ahead, 

An older generation. 



40 



THE SPIRIT OF SUMMER. 

OH, thou art like a summer cloud 
All clad in filmy white, 
Or a far-ofE song that's borne along 
The moonlit waves at night. 

Thou art a dainty wild-flower 

Hid in the roadside grass, 
With leaves unfurled and dew empearled 

To lure me as I pass. 

But cloud and song and wayside flower 

Express thee wistfully, 
For all the warm long summer's charm 

Is but a sigh for thee. 



41 



THE HEART OF NATURE. 

SPIRIT of Spring ! smile on me at the time 
When violets are purple ; when the prime 

Of every flower that chants its Maker's praises 
Is at its noblest. Even humble daisies 

Sing a sweet treble to the mundane song. 
Then, like old Chaucer, none shall see me long 

Fret at my task. The roadside bank I seek, 
Near where the ripples of the streamlet speak, 

And where tall grasses hide the form from view; 
There, Spring-time joys, I would commune with 
you ! 

The fence invites the gaze, where humbly creeps 
A vine, beside the posts now slyly peeps 

42 



The primrose, early Nature's coyest child ; 
There by the hedge the rose will revel wild ; 
And yonder in the field, still undefiled 

By contact with the baser things of life, 
I see the yellow dandelion rife. 

Gods of the ancient world, return again 
And stop the hammer of the ceaseless pain 
That beats upon the anvil of the brain. 

Regenerate us ; let us see you move 
Before our faces, sing, and pipe and love. 

Vertumnus, woo Pomona in the spring. 
And Ceres, quicken every deadened thing 

That longs for life. God Pan, pipe to us now 
And smooth the deep-ploughed wrinkles from the 
brow. 

Spirit of Spring ! vouchsafe to me an hour 
Of such pure bliss, alone with tree and flower, 



43 



In sweet communion with the mother-heart 
That beats in unison with ours ; my part 

Shall be to cherish thee when thou art nigh, 
The only earthly joy that cannot die. 



44 



THE ENCHANTRESS. 

SEAWARD where the gulls are screaming, 
Southward where the spice winds call, 
Where the nymphs with loose locks streaming 
Dance in nightly carnival, — 

Lies an island dimly floating 

On the marge of sky and sea, 
And the mellow moonbeams gloating 

Gild its misty tracery. 

There I sail, when breezes sleeping 
Smooth the star-path of the deep. 

Unseen hands o'er lute-strings sweeping 
Lure me up the moonbeams steep, 

Till I near the shining shingle 

Of that island' s mystic shore. 
And the songs of sirens mingle 

With the breakers' sullen roar. 

45 



See! the enchantress from the meadow 
Beckons me with starry hand; 

Out above the grim cliff's shadow, 
Out across the surf-lashed sand. 

Crash ! upon the hidden ledges 
Underneath the cold cliffs' frown, 

Sinks my boat, — through tangled sedges 
Clutching mermaids drag me down. 



46 



THE BACHELOR'S SONG. 

GO, circle through the ball-room's maze. 
Guiding some damsel shy and callow, 
And drawing down the envious gaze 
Of some more fond and foolish fellow. 

Go, lean upon his well-starched breast, 
Oh maid escaped from mamma's clutches, 

Enjoy your two-step with a zest, 

Nor heed the passing elbow-touches. 

Reserve your glance, O sly coquette, 
For some more inexperienced sinner. 

For me a smoking meal is set; 
I envy none when I'm at dinner. 

Dazzle the foplings, what's the odds? 

I'd rather sit and sip my wine. 
Defying all the amorous gods 

To make my heart the slave of thine. 



47 



TRIOLETS. 

(FLUNKED the exam.— 
Shall I flunk it to-morrow ? 
I went to a cram, 
But I flunked the exam. 
And the guv' nor said ' ' D — ear me ! ' 

With a visage of sorrow. 
I flunked the exam. — 

Shall I flunk it to-morrow ? 



48 



THE FOREST MAIDEN. 

LAND of silence, land of shadow, 
Where the rippling streamlets run, 
Far beyond the misty meadow 
Toward the setting of the sun — 

There my thoughts are ever dwelling 

With the spirit of my dreams, 
And my love is like the welling 

Of those silent sliding streams ; 

And her eyes are like the glimmer 
Of the sunlight through the leaves. 

When a pool reflects the shimmer 
That its limpid depth receives. 

Ah, would God that I were going. 

As my heart has gone before. 
Where those soft-voiced streams are flowing 

To that forest-shaded shore. 



49 



EPIGRAMS. 

I. 

^^r^OR your pelf, not yourself, I eagerly sue,'* 
1^ Said he with the frankest stupidity, 
But she said, * ' When I wed, all my charm must 
be due 
To Cupid and not to cupidity." 
II. 
An ancient critic in his book of rules 
Says, ' ' They who write for men must write for 

fools," 
If fools be plentiful, our authors need them ; 
For if there were no fools, why, who would read 
them ? 



50 



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CKMAN 

DERY INC. |e 

^ DEC 88 

3# N. MANCHESTER, 
s^ INDIANA 46962 



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